The White
by Shurely
Summary: Set after the good ending of inFamous 2. Cole MacGrath realises all has been done, and all that is left to do is rest. Thankfully, he has friends to help him recuperate. He was never alone.


Author's Note: After a long time of inactivity and especially very little of inFamous, I decided to write a little vignette of Cole MacGrath after the good ending of inFamous 2. Mind you, I've only seen the ending, not actually played the game itself, so that should explain the lack of inFamous 2 characters. Still, these guys are my favourite characters, and it was good for me to start another fanfiction and complete it all in one day (shock horror!).

**Contains spoilers of both of the games and the comics.**

Enjoy, and please review!

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He remembered the first lightning strike, just after his awakening. Zeke had yelled and Trish had screamed, but their voices had been faint compared to the ringing in his ears. His whole body - every single muscle and organ - had contracted and seared as he stood, paralysed by the impact, feeling the agony render him immobile. Then he had collapsed. So had the city.

White. Before the blackout of his coma, there had been white. And now there was white again, everywhere, bleaching colour from the world around him, as if a flood had washed away both his pain and his vision. Yet he could see, clearer than he ever could. He had all his senses, but there was only silence, the solidness and smoothness of concrete ground, and white. He could smell something, though. It smelled like...home: comfortable, familiar, inviting. Like the waft of pepperoni pizza, and fruity tang of Trish's shampoo before it ran out, and the salt of the sea. All of these things seemed to coalesce to form a scent he couldn't properly describe, but knew was a sign.

"Cole."

He lifted his head - no longer feeling the ache in his neck from sleeping on sofas and park benches - to see who had spoken. Simultaneously, he raised his arms to inspect and admire the clean skin where bruises and gashes should have been. He wore his courier jacket and trousers, which felt crisp and looked pristine, and on his feet were a pair of new trainers. When he looked up, his heart lifted, emotion forming a lump in his throat.

"Trish," he whispered, barely able to croak her name.

She seemed just as immaculate as he was, dressed in her doctor's shirt and even wearing her waist bag of medical supplies. She smiled, reaching for his shoulder as he straightened into a seating position, understanding the turmoil that showed through his eyes. Alive. Trish was alive.

"Hey," she said gently. He touched her hand, caressing the soft skin he'd missed so much, and tried to swallow. "It's good to see you."

Then he jerked away, blinking rapidly. She had fallen...the building...Kessler...

As if reading his thoughts, she laughed. "It's me, Cole. I'm here. You don't have to be guilty any more."

And he didn't. She was alive and well, kneeling before him with her hand transferred from his shoulder to his cheek, brown hair kept behind her ears and blue eyes gleaming with tears. He wanted to cry as well: he wanted to hold her close to make sure she was there, to tell her how sorry he was, to stay with her and keep her from harm-

"You did it, Cole."

He knew that voice: deep and gruff, but strangely less cold. To his right, Kessler emerged: hiding behind his billowing ivory coat were two young girls, giggling shyly to themselves and confiding secrets. Cole stared at the man, unable to settle on a particular emotion, until he allowed the girls to move away and he himself came closer. Kessler grinned. Less lines adorned his face, as if he had become more youthful. On his right hand, he wore his bionic gauntlet; a bionic plate was strapped across his chest. Although his hood obscured most of his head, Cole noted his bright azure eyes, focused on his own, and the easy way he stood before him, as if their confrontation had never occurred.

He nodded. "The Beast is dead. You prepared me for the end, and I was ready."

"Yes," he replied, grin widening. "You were. I had faith in you, Cole - you didn't disappoint me. You should be proud of your accomplishments."

"But..." He looked between Kessler and Trish, searching for an answer to their placidity. "On the rooftops, with the other doctors-"

Trish stroked his cheek. "It's over. We've settled our differences, and I know it was for the greater good. It made you stronger, strong enough to help the people, so you could face the Beast." She let go. "And now you have, as well as clearing the world of the Conduits. You've done enough, so don't worry about the rest."

He inhaled, cogitating deeply over what he had just heard and the grief that was creeping back from his memory of her.

"She's right, Cole," said Kessler knowingly, "and we both know it."

For some reason, Cole chuckled, and Trish raised her eyebrows in amusement. Of course: Kessler had his own Trish, with his own daughters. Talking of the two girls, he peered around Kessler to see them playing tag, oblivious to the trio. He had wanted a family - a proper home, too. Now he realised he still had one.

"Where am I?"

Kessler tilted his head to a side, gazing intently, folding his arms. "Somewhere safe. You're with us."

"And Zeke?"

"Is still spreading the word," answered Trish. "As he would say, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. He remembers you, and he won't forget."

"No. I know he won't." He glanced over her shoulder, and for a moment, he thought he saw the silhouette of Alden, minus his walking stick and obscene scars. Standing a few feet away, he could scarcely discern Moya, who looked no less imposing but at least wasn't attacking him.

Suddenly, he felt another hand on his arm, and jerked when he saw who it belonged to. The leader of the Reapers was unsoiled by her black tar; instead, she had donned a pair of tight black trousers, and her crimson jacket seemed to cover more of her torso. She still wore a hood though, and beneath it, Cole recognised her sly smile.

"Still afraid of me, my dear?" Sasha murmured. He watched her warily as she made her way to Kessler, who seemed no less complacent. "It seems fate consumes us all - but especially you, Cole. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." He was about to retort, but she giggled and waved a hand dismissively. "Do you expect me to slaughter you for saving Empire City, New Marais, and my little district? I think not. No, something like that I can save for another day. For now..." She sighed. "I'm glad we're together at least. All of us."

"Not yet." He turned his head upwards, towards the blank sky. "I'm waiting here for Zeke."

"We all will," agreed Kessler.

"I'll be here with you," Trish said, solemn in her promise.

Sasha beamed mysteriously.

"Until then," Cole said, "I want to know what we - Trish and I - could have been." He directed his question towards Kessler, who humphed lightheartedly.

"What you still can be," the man corrected. "You have all the time in the world. Discover for yourself." Sasha began wandering towards his daughters, and he paused to listen to her ask if she could play as well. "There'll be no mistakes - not now."

Trish hummed.

He remembered speaking, laughing, joking, but not the exact words of his mirth. The white took the colours from their clothes, yet he did not stop: he had still so much to hear from them, to tell them, and he didn't care about anything else. Soon, his fingers and arms became numb, and he glanced down to see a fading shadow where they had been. He closed his eyes, remembering who he was and everyone else around him, knowing that the white would go and so would he.

Black returned, bringing pain and senses and breath with it.


End file.
